


Tuesdays With Charles

by Brenda



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Professors, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik has Feelings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's just looking for a quiet place to grade papers.  What he finds in the Novel-Tea Tea Shop is so much more than he ever dared to dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuesdays With Charles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baehj2915](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baehj2915/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tea for Two Teacups](https://archiveofourown.org/works/509421) by [baehj2915](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baehj2915/pseuds/baehj2915). 



The Novel-Tea teashop seems like a pleasant enough little place, Erik thinks, as he steps inside the door and takes a look around. Sort of homey and hospitable, with a wide variety of teas from all over the world, soothing art on the walls, a pleasant-looking staff bustling about, and enough cozy places to settle in that one wouldn't feel rushed. It's a little off the beaten path, far enough away from campus that it's not overrun by students taking over the chairs and tables with their tablets and notebooks and books, like every public space is simply another extension of their dorm rooms. No, Novel-Tea seems to be quiet, muted, worlds away from the hipster vibe and forced intimacy of the local coffee shops, and it definitely beats the claustrophobia of his office, with its never-ending parade of students knocking on the door with this question or that. Erik does love teaching, but he values his down time as well, and relishes the rare opportunities to get some actual work done.

The teashop also smells amazing, in the way that a coffee place never could. Erik can make out the scents of peonies, jasmine, bergamot, lemon, and oolong mingling together. The smells remind him of afternoons at his grandmother's apartment in Munich when he'd been a boy, the hours he'd spent with her in her small, yet cheerful kitchen drinking tea from delicate china cups and listening to her tell story after story of her past. The memories are among the few good ones he has of his own childhood.

On this particular Tuesday afternoon, the front section of the shop is a bit crammed with other patrons, but there's only one person at the long table in the back common room. A graduate student from the looks of him, dressed in jeans, Birkenstocks, and a wrinkled white button-down shirt and a mop of messy brown hair. He's slouched on the bench seat against the wall, papers fanned across the surface, with an empty teacup at his elbow.

Erik approaches the table. A studying student seems like the perfect fit for his needs. "Do you mind sharing?"

The other man doesn't even glance up from his iPad, just shuffles his papers closer to himself. "No, not at all, have a seat." His voice is eloquent, low, with the round syllables of England honey-thick on his tongue.

Erik takes the bench opposite with a quick nod of thanks, and boots up his laptop. He has a set of papers to read through and mark before tomorrow, and judging from the quality of the work so far, he's in for a very long afternoon. When would the freshman ever learn the art of stating their arguments in short, concise sentences? Far too many students mistook elaborately ornate turns of phrase for actual eloquence.

"I'm Charles, by the way."

Erik makes a notation on the next paper, doesn't gaze across the table. He hopes he hasn't been saddled with the chatty sort. He's here for peace and quiet, not idle conversation. "Dr. Erik Lehnsherr," he replies, not precisely rude, but brusque enough.

"Ah, you must be the new head of German Studies." At that, Erik looks up. Blue, blue eyes and red, red lips meet his gaze, framing an open, gamine face. Erik stares, mesmerized by both the friendliness in the other man's expression and the way the light from the large bay window reflects off ridiculously long eyelashes. "Dr. Charles Xavier. I oversee the Genetics Department."

"You don't look old enough to be a doctor," Erik blurts out. The other man looks barely old enough to shave. Erik can't stop staring.

"Ah, yes, I was a bit of a precocious child, I'm afraid." Those full lips curve, invite intimacy. Erik frowns in confusion. No one ever looks at him like that. Like he's worthy of private smiles or whispered confidences.

A server appears at their table with a bone-white china cup – the tea is light-colored and heavily floral-scented. Charles takes it with a murmur of thanks, and Erik notices the long, artistic taper to his fingers. "Would you like to order something? My treat. They have a wonderful Russian blend I think you'd like."

Erik's frown deepens. "How do you know I like Russian tea?"

"Educated guess," Charles says, with a small shrug. "You look the type to take your tea very black and very strong."

"Meaning?"

Charles takes a delicate sip of his tea. He seems unfazed by Erik's scowl. "Meaning nothing, except I think you could use a nice, well-brewed cup of tea, and I'm offering to buy. If you're interested."

After that, it does seem rather churlish to refuse.

***

Charles looks up from his papers when Erik walks into the shop the following week, beckons him over with an open, friendly smile. It seems to be his default expression. And still baffling to see it directed his way. "Erik, please, have a seat."

There are several empty places at the front of the store today, but Erik still finds himself setting his things on Charles' table. "Don't you have classes?"

"Not on Tuesdays," Charles says. "Most of the time, I'm either in the classroom or in the lab, but I try to keep my Tuesdays free to get out, breathe in some fresh air, indulge in intelligent conversation. Which is precisely why I'm so pleased to see you." His smile grows even wider, showcasing delicate lines around his eyes and mouth.

It's impossible not to return the smile. "Most people don't share your opinion about me, I'm afraid."

Charles orders for the both of them – another white tea blend for him, another Russian tea for Erik – before sitting back. He folds his hands across his lap and makes a scoffing sound. "I'll admit, you do possess a rather intimidating scowl, but I think you're just the sort who doesn't suffer fools."

"Quite." He wonders why he's not more uncomfortable by the idea that this man seems to have him all figured out after only one previous meeting.

"I find it refreshing," Charles continues, and leans in, those blue eyes pleasantly warm and so very, very welcoming.

Erick finds himself inching forward, drawn in by the promise of honest companionship in those eyes. It's been far too long since he's called anyone friend. "I find you refreshing as well," he says, and is proud of himself when Charles responds with a delighted laugh. 

***

After that, they develop something of a routine. Tuesday afternoons after Erik's finished the last of his morning classes, he heads to Novel-Tea and meets Charles. Some weeks, they're both drowning in papers and other assorted school work, with barely enough time to glance at the other in sympathy, and other weeks, they sit for hours, indulging in conversation and observation. Charles tells stories of his frankly ridiculously wealthy childhood, of his much adored younger sister and his very colorful friends, and summers in the Hamptons and winters in Zurich, but without the aura of braggadocio Erik had come to expect from his tonied set. And Erik, in turn, opens up about his own past, tells his own stories of growing up in Germany, of his grandmother and how she'd been the only link to his mother after she'd passed, and select tales from his first harrowing job teaching at a boarding school in Cologne. 

Charles is affable and friendly, with expressive, animated hands, a quick grin and an even quicker mind. He and Erik argue passionately over a wide range of subjects, from philosophy and literature to science and the news of the day. Charles forces Erik to think, to defend his positions in new and different ways, takes him out of his comfort zone with every question and challenge of his long-held beliefs, and Erik always walks away after every debate feeling refreshed, exhilarated, much more at peace with the world. He also finds that, over time, Tuesday starts to become his favorite day of the week.

***

"...no, no, that's not what I'm saying." Charles' eyes are the purest blue, bright with life and vitality and the promise of a good argument. He leans in, taps the papers in front of him. The subtle floral scent of his tea clings to his clothes. "Of course, I believe people have free will. No one is a slave to their genetic code."

"Yet all of your research has been focusing on the exact opposite," Erik points out, also leaning in. He's not even sure what the dispute is about, but the shimmer of energy surrounding Charles as he talks, with those long, artist's fingers gesturing wildly in the air, is addictive.

His tea sits by his elbow, untouched and cooling. He never notices.

***

One memorable Tuesday, Erik is greeted by the sight of a chess set sitting in front of Charles on the table. He hasn't played in years, not since his own college days in fact. He'd beaten everyone in his (admittedly small) social circle so often that they'd refused to play him, and he'd never been able to find another worthy opponent or even someone he wanted to sit across from for an hour or two.

"I thought I could persuade you into a game," Charles says, with a sheepish shrug. He worries his lower lip between his teeth. Erik has to force his gaze away. "If you wouldn't mind. It's been years since I've had a good match."

"My dear Charles, I'm certain you could persuade me to do almost anything," Erik answers, blunt and honest. 

Charles flushes in a most delightful manner, but doesn't look away. It's not the best chess match Erik's ever played, in terms of strategy, but the company more than makes up for it.

***

"Do you know, I've finally sussed out why your name was so familiar to me when we first met. You're teaching my sister, Raven, in her German Cinema class."

Erik sets his tea cup in its saucer. His classes have always been small enough that he can recall every student with ease. "Raven is your sister?" They seem so very different. At opposite ends of the spectrum, in terms of personality. "I thought her last name was Darkholme."

"That's her stage name. Surely you've noticed her flair for the dramatic."

"Quite." A new look almost every week, Erik recalls. He'd been rather fond of the time she'd dyed her hair blue and sported yellow contacts. Most unusual and rather striking. Seems to be a theme for both brother and sister.

"She's quite the chameleon." There's a wealth of pride in Charles' voice. He pushes his hair behind his ear with artless grace. "She's engaged to my assistant, Hank."

"My felicitations to them both."

"Yes, I'm very happy for them. On the outside, they seem very different, but they've managed to look below the surface to who they truly are underneath. It's quite remarkable, really. Finding a connection like that...it gives one hope for the future, wouldn't you say?"

Erik's never given love or marriage or finding a connection with another person much thought, but now he finds... Well, it's best left unspoken. No use in longing for things that would never happen. "Yes, I suppose so," he says slowly.

Charles smiles in reply, lips red and inviting. Erik has to force himself to change the subject before he ruins their friendship by asking a question they'll both regret.

***

Fall gives way to winter. Leaves bloom into riotous shades of red and orange and yellow, then brown and decay and fall, like so much detritus, on stony, hard ground. The nip in the air grows sharper, the wind howls a little louder. Erik feels the sands of time slipping through his fingers, and cherishes every Tuesday for the gifts they are.

But inside the intimate cocoon of the Novel-Tea common room, life goes on as warm and bright as summer. It's easy to ignore the outside world when Charles is across from him, sharing tea and soft smiles and anecdotes of his classes and his research. When they're bent together over the chess board, concentrating on the next move, trying to outwit the other. The only downside to the encroaching inclement weather is that Charles starts wearing fingerless gloves that hide those remarkably expressive hands.

"Thin blood, I'm afraid," Charles says, apologetically, when he catches Erik staring at the gloves. "It's rather a nuisance."

Erik wonders how anyone who burns so bright could ever be cold. 

***

Inevitably, the school term comes to an end, and it's the last Tuesday before the winter break. Erik's not certain what he'll do with himself on Tuesdays for the next six weeks, and feels the loneliness of the days start to stretch ahead of him in a long, unbending line. He shuffles into the tea shop on leaden feet, answers Charles' cheery greeting with barely a grunt of welcome.

"What's wrong?" Charles asks, eyes soft with sympathy, clearly sensing Erik's foul mood.

He means to brush it off, means to say it's nothing, he's fine, just tired and looking forward to the time away from campus, but instead, what comes out is: "Have dinner with me tonight."

He sits back, stunned at himself. Charles' friendship means too much to him to throw away on something as ephemeral as desire. They have intellectual intimacy, a meeting of the minds unlike anything he's ever known. It should be enough. It _is_ enough. He's made his way through life by keeping a tight rein on his emotions, on protecting himself from the frightening possibility of giving another person control of his happiness, of not letting anyone close enough to see beneath the hard exterior he shows the world. 

But somehow, over the last few months, Charles has managed to break down every carefully erected wall, has wormed his way into a place deep inside Erik's defenses. Erik has allowed himself to become vulnerable and weak, and this carelessly issued invitation is the last straw, a mistake he knows will doom a friendship he cherishes above everything else. 

"I'm sorry," he starts, embarrassed, furious at himself for the slip, "that was –"

"It's _fine_ , Erik. Truly."

"Is it?"

"Well, only if you mean it." Charles sits back himself, hands folded placidly on the table. He looks calm, composed, so at ease with himself and the world around him. " _Do_ you mean it?" he asks, quietly, looking at Erik like he can see right into the heart of him. It's a singularly discomfiting – and exhilarating – thought. "Is dinner with me something you want?"

"No," Erik says, truthfully, because the truth is all he has left to give. He's not certain of anything except he wants Tuesday to never end. He wants to sit right here forever and bask in the warmth of Charles' smile and the musical lilt of his voice. 

And, where once that thought would have scared him, now he finds that he feels oddly liberated by the confession. "To be honest, I'd rather skip dinner altogether and take you straight to bed."

If he's damming himself, he may as well do it properly.

Charles' eyes darken to cobalt. His tongue flicks out to moisten his lips. "I will admit, that does sound like a far more pleasurable way to spend the evening."

"Was that – were you –?" Erik's never been a man who's been at a loss for words, but now, he couldn't summon them if his life depended on it. Time seems to stand still, his entire life hanging precariously in the balance.

"Yes," Charles says, and places his hand over Erik's. The heat of the touch burns through him like wildfire, bright and untamed. "But I'll warn you now, once you do get me in your bed, you're not going to be rid of me so easily."

"What makes you think I'd ever let you leave?" Erik asks, searching Charles' face and seeing the same longing and need reflected there. His lungs expand, and all of his self-doubt dissipates like vapor, all of the walls around his vulnerable heart crumble like fine dust. How had he never noticed that Charles, his dear beloved Charles, had felt the same, had the same desires? They'd both been such fools.

"I wouldn't want to," Charles replies, and in his voice, Erik can hear the connection between them lock into place with an audible click. All of the answer to all of Erik's questions are right there, only waiting for him to make his next move.

As one, they both lean in, two magnets drawn together, an irresistible force. And when Erik's lips finally meet Charles' for the first time, he swears he can taste the future.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jo for the beta, and to baehj2915 for such an inspirational fic!


End file.
